


Letting Go

by Lunarium



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-13
Updated: 2016-02-13
Packaged: 2018-05-20 02:10:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5988531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lunarium/pseuds/Lunarium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elemmírë faces letting go of her beloved who has chosen her family over love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Letting Go

**Author's Note:**

  * For [The_Wavesinger](https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Wavesinger/gifts).



She was ready to say goodbye. 

Or at least she had to accept it. Elemmírë told herself she was ready to let go, that she would smile and bow to the woman before her, the dancer turned solider who had chosen to march alongside her brother into unseen danger and certain death, than dance beside her beloved lady in familiar lakes and groves with secure comforts of their daily life.

She kept her arms embraced around Írimë, the woman she had sworn her undying love and loyalty, and wished for her victory in battle as she felt the slender bones of her delicate lady move under her, muscles strong but not shaped for war. She dared not to imagine how such bones, a bird’s bones, could withstand a single blow from a foe.

“I am proud of thee,” she said with the confidence of a singer and poet, her words filling Írimë with the strength that she herself did not feel in that moment. She pushed her own emotions aside.

At last she found the strength to soften the grip around Írimë, knowing painfully well that this may be the final time she may be this close to her, have this final chance to touch her. The memories of their years spent in the noontide of the world, of love growing patiently under the blossoming of Laurelin and passions running high with the silvery blessed light of Telperion. Now neither tree glowed, the light taken by evil, and it seemed so had their love, though the memory still lingered in their parting touch. 

Írimë bowed, gracefully, too small among her siblings, too fair, and looked back at Elemmírë right in her eyes, and said with the ever-present laughter jingling in her words, “I thank thee, and I promise my return.” 

_After you have fulfilled a greater vow to family over your wedding vow in remaining with me_ , Elemmírë added in her mind, but she kept the bitterness from showing in her face. She offered her hand upturned, which Írimë took without a second thought, and she moved in again, for perhaps their final kiss, the kiss soft and warm, the love sending jolts of tingles down her spine just as their first kiss had by many years ago. 

She wondered if Írimë remembered any of that, or if her family was all she saw now. Her brother had always been a constant figure, for even during their courting she had kept an eye for a lady to bring to him to meet and marry. With a heavy heart Elemmírë realized she would always be second in importance. 

“You must go now,” Elemmírë said, her tone hardening slightly as the sudden sound of the trumpet blast ripped the dark skies, singling Ñolofinwë’s followers to make leave with him. 

“I will return,” Írimë promised, the laughter so gone from her voice that Elemmírë wondered if she had just been kissing the same woman. She willed herself to remain with her head held high and her smile proud and unmoved as her wife departed, her frame growing smaller, lost in the sea of the travelers following Ñolofinwë to their doom. 

_I will endure a life without you_ , Elemmírë thought, but with each passing minute, her heart eclipsed with the Darkening.

The daughter who returned to her parents was sullen-faced and cold. They made warm tea for Elemmírë and tried not to speak too ill of the Noldor who chose to forsake their life of the blessed realm of Valinor for whatever dangers lay in the lands beyond. She had half a mind to rush out in the cold night after her beloved, and in fear of her own madness she confessed her desires to her parents, who had comforted her until the madness subdued. 

Elemmírë retreated to her old room, having used it seldom since her wedding for it was reserved for when the women visited the family. She flinched at the first object that reminded her of Írimë, then settled at her desk, seeking a final comfort to mend the breaking of her heart. 

But after filling her quill and bringing it atop the parchment, Elemmírë heart sank in resignation, for it seemed all the words had left along with the laughing maiden.


End file.
